


real life.

by themissinglenk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin
Genre: Contemporary AU, M/M, from tumblr, prompt, that domestic au shizz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themissinglenk/pseuds/themissinglenk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shopping together is hard. // from tumblr, open prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	real life.

“I’m just saying, I’m done with broke college kid dumps. I want this place to look nice.”  
  
“Yeah, but theming every fucking room? What are you, a metrosexual?”  
  
The old woman shopping fuzzy toilet seat covers glanced up from her end of the Big Lots aisle, frowning in censure of such obscene language in public. Two young men, casually shopping the home design. With a squeak and a rattle, she turned the cart around and decided to return once the scruffy gays were gone. What was happening to the world?  
  
Metrosexual. Jean rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, wandering off down a different way. “Let’s just look at curtains, I guess.”  
  
“Why do we need curtains?” Eren argued, following along with his hands shoved in his pockets and the flag of general dissatisfaction blazing across his face. “We have blinds.”  
  
“I don’t wanna wake up at the ass-crack of dawn, that’s why.”  
  
“You won’t. We have blinds.”  
  
Jean cast a disdainful glance over his shoulder. “The sun still comes through the blinds and once it does, I can’t sleep.”  
  
“Well, you have problems. Just get one of those gay sleeping blindfold things—”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Jean, I don’t want curtains!” Eren bemoaned, complete with a stomp of the foot and a sharp pout and—what was that? A hip cocked out to the side? Looking too delicious in those jeans, God bless denim and K-Swiss—  
  
“How fucking old are you?” Jean muttered. “Five? Why can’t you compromise with me or something?”  
  
“Curtains make it too dark and when it’s too dark, I can’t wake up.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous.”  
  
“You’re ridiculous!”  
  
Silence. Distracted by comforter sets. Eren ran his fingers along a few throw pillows and blankets, pout softening into a frown. “We don’t even have a bed, though. Just a box spring and a mattress.”  
  
“We can still get a bed-set. The skirt will cover the box spring.”  
  
“The skirt?”  
  
“The bed skirt.”  
  
“My bed is not a drag queen.”  
  
Jean stopped and regarded Eren with a nonplussed and exasperated pinch to his brow like he was very close to beating his head against the nearest surface. “You’re something fucking else,” he scorned, shaking his head and rounding the corner to peruse the shower curtains. “You are something fucking else, Eren.”  
  
“What? I’m sorry, okay! I just—Jesus, who died and made you king of interior design?”  
  
“Is it really such a big deal I want a home and not a box with windows?”  
  
“Hey, can we get surround-sound, too? Sasha can get us a discount at Best Buy, I bet…”  
  
“Yeah, whatever.”  
  
“I want the bed against the wall.”  
  
Jean stopped short. Again. Eren bumped into him with a tiny grunt and a shuffle of tennis shoes on linoleum. He met Jean’s curt glance over his shoulder, raising his brows.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You can’t get your way with the curtains and the bed.”  
  
“I like sleeping against the wall.”  
  
“Okay, so either you sleep against the wall and we have curtains, or we don’t have curtains and the bed isn’t against the wall.”  
  
“Why do you care? You’re sleeping on the outside either way.”  
  
“I care because of the point. You can’t bitch and moan about my choices then expect to get your way with everything. Holy shit, you sound like a girlfriend.”  
  
“But I’m not. I’m your boyfriend. And there’s really no difference except that you’re trying to insult me by calling me a girl, dickhead.”  
  
Screech-clatta-clatta-clatta…  
  
Jean and Eren watched as the old woman at the other end of the aisle whipped her cart around and high-tail-hobbled it around the corner. Eren snorted. Jean sighed, raking a hand through his hair.  
  
“You are driving me fucking crazy, Eren.”  
  
“Well, I’m so sorry. Don’t live with me, then.”  
  
“What are you gonna do, crash on Mikasa’s couch again?”  
  
Eren’s shoulders sagged in defeat, offering a limp shrug in reply. He seemed to mull over something very important for a long moment. Then, reluctantly meeting Jean’s eyes, he grumbled, “Fine. We can have curtains if the bed is against the wall.”  
  
“Yeah, sure. I’m never comfortable anyway. You take up the whole bed.”  
  
“You suddenly have a lot of complaints.”  
  
“I want curtains.”  
  
“You’re getting curtains, Jean! Jesus!”  
  
“You know,” Jean heaved a sigh, slouched at a rack of decorative pictures, “they say you really learn a lot about a person, living with them. That it’s a real test of your relationship.”  
  
Eren stared, avoiding Jean’s curious glance. That one had just held a little too much weight, he guessed. Bitterly, Eren brushed past him and ducked down another aisle.  
  
“Where are you going?” Jean called, following after quickly.  
  
“Looking for a laundry hamper so I won’t throw my clothes all over the floor anymore,” Eren spat. “I’m compromising with you, Mr. Color Coordinated Closet.”  
  
Jean stood in the mouth of the aisle, watching Eren inspect the different hamper options. Stubbornly. Glumly. Trying to prove he much preferred taking up the bed with Jean to falling off Mikasa’s couch in his sleep. It was sort of touching. Jean couldn’t ignore it.  
  
“Come here,” he grunted, sad little twist of a smile.  
  
Eren stopped, cutting a glance his direction without lifting his head. What a fucking kid. Jean sighed, caving completely. He held his hands out, open, shrugging. “Come here,” he said again. And Eren did. Wilted against his chest and glowered up at him as if to say, This is not defeat or apology when it really was, and Jean tried to hide his smirk as he slid his hands in Eren’s back pockets, just letting him lean there against him in the aisle in silence. Warm and comforting little half-embrace. It wasn’t like Eren hadn’t been practically living with Jean the last five months, anyway—sleeping in his bed, using his shower, playing his video games, leaving his clothes all over Jean’s bedroom floor, considered a constant by all Jean’s old roommates when he stumbled out of Jean’s room in the morning in all his wrinkled T-shirt and sex hair glory, searching for orange juice to chug out of the carton and scowling at the world at large for simply existing for the first five minutes after he dragged himself out of bed.  
  
(And now that he thought about it, maybe Eren was always cranky when he woke up at Jean’s not because he was A, hungover, or B, sore from the sex, or C, late for class, but actually just because Jean had curtains that kept all the light out of the room and Eren couldn’t wake up well that way.)  
  
“I wanna live with you,” Jean whispered against Eren’s temple. “I’m excited. That’s all. Okay? I’m just really, really excited.”  
  
“You’re a loser,” Eren mumbled, and Jean knew it meant, Me, too.  
  
“We can have the bed against the wall.”  
  
“But you can’t sleep without curtains, Jean. It’s fine. We can have curtains.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“No, but I really want the bed against the wall!”  
  
Jean laughed and withdrew his hands from Eren’s back pockets with a loving little smack on the hip. “We suck at this dating thing.”  
  
“That’s when you know it’s real, I guess,” Eren intoned with a weary sigh. But it was followed by a flash of a teasing little grin as Jean chased him towards the sofas and bed-frames.  
  
“I want this one! We can totally split this one! And look at that lamp, I think it’s just classy enough for you, Mr. Metrosexual—”  
  
“You little shit, stop calling me that—”  
  
The old woman shook her head at the key-holders, having been watching from the corner of her eye. Damn kids. They’d learn, though. They’d learn. And if they didn’t, well, they wouldn’t last long at all, would they?  
  
  
 _ **end.**_

**Author's Note:**

> no but you guys have no idea this is my real life in a fic lol.


End file.
